One Act of Kindness
by brynerose
Summary: Thomas and Peter continue to be swept along by the events of early World War II as they find themselves in the German armed forces. But what happens when they find themselves trapped behind enemy lines, facing the most unlikely of opponents?
1. Chapter 1

As always—I do not own any rights to Swing Kids, nor do I have official connections, yada yada, you've probably heard this speech a million times

As always—I do not own any rights to _Swing Kids_, nor do I have official connections, yada yada, you've probably heard this speech a million times. However, any characters you don't recognize from the movie are mine; you're free to use them, as long as you credit me please!

Okay, rant over. Happy reading.

July 1940

Prologue

_"…And finally, crew assignments shall be posted momentarily. You have been placed according to the position you trained in, so the highest performance is expected. It is an honor to be chosen for the first airborne assault on Great Britain, remember that. You will report silently and promptly after dinner. Dismissed. _Heil Hitler!_"_

_Thomas echoed the Nazi salute, but there was no feeling in it. Of all places, he had to end up here. Hitler, in order to step up the advance, had ordered all HJs of seventeen or older into the armed forces. Only an elite group was admitted to the _Luftwaffe_, although many work camp detainees had been sent too. The mortality rate was expected to be high in any direct attack on Britain. At least the first one would have the advantage of surprise. _After this, I'll find a way to disappear_, he thought. _If I survive.

_It took awhile to get through the crowd, but at last Thomas made it to the list of assignments. With him would be Emil, some pilot named Horitz Schuler…and Peter._

_As if on cue, someone softly started whistling "It Don't Mean a Thing." Thomas spun around._

"_You! You're _here_…" _

_Peter's face was unreadable. "Hello, Thomas." It had only been for two months, but his face was paler, more gaunt from living in a work camp. Then he'd been forced to enter training for the upcoming mission._

_Thomas didn't know what to say. The last time they'd been face to face, he'd nearly killed his best friend. Did Peter resent him for it?_

"You're not a murderer, Thomas." "I know who my friends are."

_Something had happened that night outside the Bismarck. Ever since, Thomas had felt disgusted at what he'd said, what he'd become. He wanted out. Now it seemed he was as much a prisoner as Peter was._

_Peter saw the haunted look in his friend's eyes. The Thomas he knew was still in there, fighting the cage the Nazis had put him in._

"_It's okay, I don't need to hear it."_

"_No, I really need to say it. I was such a—"_

"_Forget it," said Peter. He was smiling in a way he hadn't for a long time. "That's all behind us now. And anyway, if we're gonna die prisoners, at least we'll eat better here."_

_Thomas couldn't help but grin back, his old, cocky grin._

"_So, it's back to keeping an eye on you two."_

_Emil strode up, hands held casually in the small of his back. "Especially you, Müller. Such a waste, to be caught at a swing club."_

_Thomas threw Emil a dirty look, but luckily it went unnoticed. "Save the lectures for the flight, Emil. Let's get some food while they still got some."_

_They headed for the mess hall, Thomas feeling lighter than he had in months. Maybe he hadn't lost everything after all._

_- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_

_Dear Emma,_

_So far we've seen little action, but there are rumors that Germany is planning to attack Britain directly. How, I'm not sure. I hope this letter finds you safe and whole; it is the reason I chose to fight in this war. God's purpose will come out in the end, as Dad would say. Someday he'll understand. Pray for the war effort, and keep your nose clean for me._

_ Your loving brother,_

_ Ben _

_- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_

"_In the wake of the bombing, Londoners remain shaken but undeterred. Volunteers spent the night battling fires throughout the city. Now the search continues for survivors in the worst of the damage. Several Nazi planes were shot down, but so far no enemy has been found alive. Meanwhile…"_

"Emmaline Anne, come to breakfast. You've wasted enough time in front of that machine."

I rolled my eyes and stood up. Dad hated newfangled inventions in general. The only reason we had a radio was because I convinced him of the need when Ben enlisted. My brother was four years older than me, but we'd been really close since Mum died. I followed every scrap of war news I could find. Dad gave me a cross look when I finally sat down.

"I hope your radio told you that school is still on and you'd better hurry up," he said sternly. He wore his vicar's collar even though he didn't have to work today.

"What?!"

"You heard me," he said in his no-nonsense voice. "They called about twenty minutes ago. You'll have to go through the park; there's an unexploded bomb in the middle of Ash Street."

I wolfed down my sausage and eggs, and then dashed upstairs to get my schoolbag and shoes. _Good thing I dressed in my school uniform out of habit_. My curly brown hair, cut above my shoulders, was as unruly as ever, but that couldn't be helped now.

"Bye, Dad!"

The park was spookily quiet, deserted because of the time of day and the bombing. Right in the center was a plane crumpled on the ground behind the trees. I was nearly level with it before I caught a glimpse of the black swastika on the tail. A figure was still slumped in the blood-spattered cockpit.

I had to swallow a scream and a wave of nausea as I broke into a run. German or not, that was a human being who had met a sudden and violent death. Somewhere, far away, a worried family had just lost a son.

"Emma, are you alright?"

Not looking where I was going, I nearly ran headlong into my best friend, Catharine Hemler.

"You're _crying_!"

I did, indeed, have tears streaming down my face. Catharine handed me a hankie and guided me to the nearest bathroom. It was a few minutes before I could calm down enough to talk.

"There w-was an unexploded bomb on Ash Street, so I had to go th-through the park. I saw a c-crashed plane with a G-German inside. He was d-dead. It was awful!"

Catharine clapped a hand to her mouth, then hugged me tightly. Her family had fled the worsening condition in Germany when she was only five, so she still felt some connection. But they supported the Allies as much as any Briton.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she said, trying to comfort me. "No one should have to see such times."

"Why do people feel they have to attack and kill to accomplish things?"

"God gave mankind free will. Some people choose the path of the devil." Catharine also went to our church. "At least that's what your dad would say."

Good old Catharine. She never failed to make me smile.

"Now wash your face, and we'll go to class."

I giggled. "Now you sound like my mum."

We both giggled all the way to class. Catharine told me about how her little brother, Hans, had gone out as soon as the all-clear sounded to look for souvenirs of the attack.

"Everyone's on the treasure hunt for whatever they can lay their hands on," she finished. "I picked up a bullet casing on the way to school, but I wouldn't go _looking_ for them."

I shuddered. The thought of someone poking around the ruins of planes and buildings for souvenirs was creepy.

The day passed slowly. The memory of the park kept resurfacing, so Catharine had to keep distracting me. By afternoon she was starting to worry.

"Maybe we should skip your lesson for today."

"No!" Catharine had secretly been teaching me German, a subject I found quite intriguing despite the war.

"You're clearly still in shock. Mama can drive you home, where you can have a nice cup of tea and a nap. That always makes me feel better."

"Please, the last thing I need is more breaks in routine. Anyway, I actually got to practice this week while Dad was at a meeting. I just need something I really enjoy to take my mind off things."

"Maybe we'll be able to go swing dancing later."

Swing dancing! There was nothing I loved more than those electrifying nights at the dance hall. Dad disapproved of the whole business, like that ever stopped me. Ben used to take me all the time before he left.

But the dance halls were closed. As days turned into weeks and months, the German _Luftwaffe_ continued to pound London to rubble each night. My life became a blur of blackouts, safety procedures, and nights in the bomb shelter. Many of our valuables had been moved to either the shelter or the basement.

One night, as we were crossing the back yard, a plane crashed so close we could feel the blast of wind it created. I wanted to stop and look, but Dad pulled me through the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Finally the bombings slacked off, at least in our part of the city

Finally the bombings slacked off, at least in our part of the city. The school had been hit a couple of weeks before, but most of the children had already been evacuated out of the city. Catharine and Hans were among them. I simply refused to leave Dad all alone.

"I promised your mother I'd take care of you!" said Dad in one of our many arguments. "What a success I've been. You risk your safety in a city under attack, and Ben's run off to be in the thick of it. What am I to do with such children?"

"I want to help! And I'm not a child, I just turned sixteen!"

In the end I won him over. School was replaced with nurse's training, and I put all my energy into it. Helping others made me feel like I was helping the cause.

Then came a rare day when I was let off duty early. I passed the plane I'd watched fall so many nights before. The sight was no longer shocking, just another part of life. This one in particular had been cushioned by trees, so it wasn't so badly bent up.

Suddenly the wind blew my nurse's hat off. It bounced along the ground before disappearing into a nearby house. The building had luckily been empty when a bomb took a large portion out of the yard and living room. It looked rather dark and unsafe.

_Nothing will be in there_, I told myself, _except your hat_. It was hard to pick my way through the shadows and rubble. I found my hat and quickly turned to leave.

Strong arms grabbed me from behind, and a voice spoke in my ear that made my blood run cold. _It was German_.

My mind raced through my feeble vocabulary. What do you say to a Nazi trapped in hostile territory?

"_Nein!_" I managed to squeak out. "_Ich_—uh—_freund_, I think." The arms let go of me.

"_Sprechen Sie Deutsch? Wie kommen Sie hier?_"

"Wait, _nein,_ gulp British," I said, very scared. Silence reigned. I ventured to turn slowly around, hands in plain sight.

The soldier who walked out of the shadows was, at most, the same age as Ben. Only his hazel eyes, half-hidden by light brown hair, betrayed apprehension.

"You…you will be more comfortable with English?" he asked.

I was dumbfounded. "You speak English?"

"_Ja_. I studied for several years." His accent wasn't bad, I noted. He spotted my hat and bag. "You are a nurse?"

"Yes," I replied, confused.

"Then maybe you can help. You will follow me? I will not hurt you."

The soldier led me through the dark, rubble-strewn space to a room further in. One lamp was functional.

A second soldier lay close to the lamp. His left thigh was bound up in a haphazard field bandage, and he was asleep. I hoped. My heart was pounding.

"Peter Müller, my best friend," said the first soldier. "He was hit by shrapnel just before we went down. The pilot was already dead, and the fourth crew died in the crash." Mixed feelings showed on his face.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. Now that we were talking in a more civilized manner, he didn't seem so frightening. But first things first.

I knelt down next to Peter and undid the bandage. The shrapnel wasn't too big, neither was the damage. After giving him a dose of morphine, I felt confident that we wouldn't be discovered. The ministrations went smoothly for being on my own.

"He will be okay?" asked the first soldier.

"I think so. For now, at least. It's gotten infected. I'll have to get antibiotics."

"And I'll see you again?"

I blushed. Somehow this was not how I'd pictured a Nazi to be like at all. "I suppose so."

"My name is Thomas, by the way. Thomas Berger."

"Emmaline—I mean, Emma—Reynolds."

"Emma," Thomas repeated. "I like it."

Peter stirred. Thomas put a hand on his shoulder and spoke quietly in German. I saw for the first time that every Nazi insignia had been torn off their uniforms, even though they were still obviously German. Swastika-marked knives lay only just within reach.

"You're not really one of them, are you?"

"What?"

"Nazis."

Thomas looked suddenly troubled. "I was. Peter knew they were wrong, but I soaked up every word they said. He was caught when we raided the Bismarck one night. I nearly killed him, with my own hands.

"After that night I wanted out, wanted nothing more to do with the Nazis or the HJ. Then Hitler ordered everyone seventeen or older to move up into the armed forces. I was one of the few admitted to the _Luftwaffe_ directly. Peter was forced in with other prisoners from the work camps. They were trained, yes, but not many were expected to survive these missions anyway." Thomas' hard exterior was crumbling. "I have done so many terrible things."

I found myself comforting, even hugging this broken man. A British civilian hugging a German soldier. His story sounded so close to some of Ben's recent letters.

"_Today we had to fight man-to-man in the streets of a ruined village. My bayonet caught a Jerry in the stomach, and I watched him die before my eyes. I'm so ashamed, Emma. Is this what must be done to achieve peace? I saw the bodies of soldiers who were no more than kids. Kids! Sixteen or seventeen, upholding the cause of a madman…"_

I was crying. Crying not just for my country, but for every wretched soul trapped in this awful conflict.

"Are you going to turn me in?"

Caught unawares, I jumped before looking at Thomas. He held up his hands as if expecting to be handcuffed. I stared at them. A reckless daring seized my thoughts.

"No, I'm going to keep you safe," I said quietly. Thomas helped me repack my nurse's kit. "My house is only a few doors down, and Dad is out. I can return quickly with a few supplies and a decent meal for you. As soon as possible, I'd like to move you to a safer place."

Thomas nodded, and watched the petite girl leave. The further he got into this conflict, the more people took him by surprise. She was hiding them, like so many people at home tried to hide Jews.

"Can we trust her?" asked Peter. He painfully tried to sit up.

"I don't think we have much choice," Thomas replied. "But she's different. Instead of handing us over to the authorities, she's risking everything to treat us like friends."

He felt another pang of guilt, but this time it didn't seem so overwhelming. Could something as trivial as a hug make such a difference?

"So then I told him he was a jerk, and that a concussion resulting from watching the planes instead of his feet could hardly be considered a war wound," I finished with a giggle. We were having a sort of picnic in the abandoned house.

Thomas laughed out loud. "I guess everyone meets a few of those in their lifetime. What was it he wanted from you again?"

"He was trying to ask me out on a date," I replied. "Unfortunately, several of my friends had also been angels he'd woken up to. It would be several weeks before he could take a girl out anyway."

Peter asked something in German. He knew very little of English, and both Thomas and I had proven hopeless at teaching. I made a mental note to introduce Catharine as soon as she returned.

"Well, we both agree that you must be an angel," said Thomas, switching abruptly back to English. His fluency had increased considerably in a short time. "You're an excellent cook, and probably the only British citizen who wouldn't have had us shot."

"I'm not the only one," I commented. He didn't know it, but Thomas had brought my thoughts back to my brother's most recent letter. Aside from his rant about young soldiers, he'd had an argument with an officer in his company over the treatment of surrendered enemy troops. I told Thomas this, and he nodded solemnly.

"Your brother has the courage to fight the evil in this world, but he does not kill needlessly," the young German said. "A true soldier."

"That letter was from over a month ago now," I said glumly. "Well before I found you. These long silences worry me."

Thomas said nothing. I could tell he wanted to, but what could assure a soldier's safe return? Without really noticing, he put his arm around my shoulders, and I leaned closer.

Then I heard the whistling. Very softly, someone was whistling "It Don't Mean a Thing." I looked at Thomas. He too was looking around curiously.

"Do-wah, do-wah, do-wah, do-wah…"

Peter was leaning against the wall, swinging his makeshift crutch to the beat. All three of us started laughing. So that's where he'd learned those few English words!

"Come on," said Thomas. He stood up and started to pull me up too.

"But I'm not dressed for—"

"Just a little, then. Nothing too crazy."

So Peter sang quietly while Thomas and I danced until we were dizzy. For the first time since the blitz had started, I felt truly happy.

Outside was fading to dusk; soon it got chilly. I pulled my sweater close as a breeze whipped through the ruined house.

"You can't stay here much longer, you'll catch your deaths!"

"Where else is there to go?" Thomas pointed out.

I chewed on my lip for awhile. "I've got it! Since Dad makes me sleep out in the shelter—with all the air raids—you could stay in the basement! He never goes down there. Most of the stuff was Mum's, he can't bear to look at it. It's dark enough now that no one will recognize your uniforms, but Dad won't be home yet."

"I suppose so, just a moment." Thomas relayed everything in German to Peter. They discussed it for some time before turning back to me. "Lead on."

We packed their meager supplies and, with Thomas supporting Peter, made it as quickly as could be managed to my house.


	3. Chapter 3

It felt strange to be sneaking into my own house, but I knew we couldn't take many chances

It felt strange to be sneaking into my own house, but I knew we couldn't take many chances. I was smuggling German soldiers within a country at war. Finally, and without incident, however, we made it to the basement.

"It's not much, but it'll be warm and no one will come nosing down here."

I poked around one of the boxes while they got settled. Mum's jewelry box sat on top. Memories flooded my mind's eye as I looked through the little treasures. Her favorite necklace, a heart pendant set with a single stone, had been a gift from Dad because he couldn't afford an engagement ring. I tried it on with trembling fingers.

"Emma?"

I turned around, startled. Thomas' eyes jumped immediately to the necklace.

"That is _schön_. Belonged to…"

"My mum, yes," I finished. Thomas stepped close, and placed a hand gently on my cheek.

"_Du bist auch schön_. Thought so since I first set eyes on you."

The front door opened and closed, making both of us jump.

"Emma? I'm home."

I ran upstairs and shut the door behind me. "Hi, Dad."

"Why are you wearing that?" he asked. I realized he was staring at Mum's necklace.

"Sometimes I like to look through her old things," I replied, a little coldly. "When I feel alone."

"Put it away, please," he said without looking at me again.

Unbidden, anger flushed my face. "What if I don't want to? Some of us prefer to remember her rather than push her away."

"I said—'

"It's been six years!" I shouted. "For six years you've buried her under everything and yourself in your work."

"_God's_ work! Emmaline, I've raised you better than—"

"_You've_ raised me? You know nothing about me! Ben and I spent so much time with no one but each other for comfort, but now you bury him too because he's nothing like you. Neither am I!" I spun around, angry tears blurring my vision.

"Come back here, young lady! I suppose you expect dinner to just appear," Dad yelled after me.

"There are leftovers in the refrigerator. I'm not hungry."

Without a backward glance, I stormed back to the basement and locked the door behind me. Thomas and Peter let me retreat to the corner where Mum's box was and cry for awhile. Only when I started to calm down did Thomas approach.

"What happened to her?" he asked quietly, sitting down close to me.

I hiccupped, then took a deep, shuddering breath. "Mum and Dad had gone on a trip, just the two of them, and were on their way back. The car was new. They were just outside of town when it stalled partway across the tracks. Mum thought Dad was joking—then they heard the whistle. Dad got out to push, while Mum took over the wheel. The train…crushed the f-front half to pieces." New tears had sprung to my eyes.

Thomas started to say that was enough, but I waved him off. "The doctors said she probably didn't feel anything. Dad still can't reconcile himself. For six years Ben and I have all but raised ourselves. Then he left me all alone…" I felt those strong arms around me again, no longer threatening, and couldn't help but sob into the filthy black uniform. Not even Ben's arms had offered this kind of comfort; he said we should be strong for Mum.

Faintly, I heard the air raid sirens going off. Dad pounded on the basement door. I looked at Thomas, suddenly afraid for him.

"We'll be okay down here," he whispered. Already he was moving out of the line of sight. "Don't make your father worry."

I took one step, then dashed back to Thomas, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and ran up the stairs. Another long night in the bunker.

I don't know how Dad didn't realize something was up. We both had responsibilities: me with my volunteering, him with his duties as a vicar. But I was spending all the free time I had down in the basement. Then there was the issue of food. Dad did his fair share of the cooking; one would think he'd notice it was going twice as fast.

None of it seemed to matter, though. I had found friends when they should have been enemies and, more importantly, someone who truly cared about me again.

Peter was doing better by the day, despite being confined to a tiny basement. Now he and Thomas took turns dancing with me.

The RAF was clearly gaining the advantage as the air fights continued towards the end of November. I told the boys every bit of news I heard of the war in continental Europe. And anything else they might find entertaining.

"I treated an injured pilot today," I said as I served tea. Dad was out again. "One of the Americans come to help the RAF. He said today was Thanksgiving in the U.S., and that he wished he could be home for his mum's pumpkin pie."

"Some of us have a lot to be thankful for," said Thomas.

I looked at him quizzically,

"Well, for starters, me and Peter. Our plane crashed in late September behind enemy lines, yet here we are. Healthy and safe, and being kept so by a beautiful and courageous young woman."

I blushed.

"Then there's you," Thomas continued. "You mentioned before that Ben was the closest companion you had before he left to fight. The separation deeply affected you. Yet over the past months now you've learned to smile and laugh and dance again." He ran a hand through his brown hair. "Maybe even love."

"You seem to have given this a fair bit of thought," I said.

"Yes, it's amazing what one act of kindness can do. Forgiving someone of a hurt they caused can save a friendship." Thomas turned to Peter and said something in German. Peter nodded as he replied. "Sheltering an enemy unconditionally can show him he's not the monster he thought he was."

Thomas' gaze locked with mine and held it. "I've struggled with that for a long time. I confessed so much to you that day, but you comforted me as a friend. Like a brother. That was all it took."

My mouth was hanging open in wonderment. That simple moment of compassion had just come naturally, like I knew it was the right thing. I never thought it could turn an entire life around…

Someone was knocking on the front door. Thomas couldn't help smiling as he watched Emma disappear from sight. Such traits could mend a war, if more people chose to do so.

_Thud._

Without thinking, Thomas was up the stairs. A man in a British uniform was getting back into a car, and Emma was sitting on the floor. She was shaking.

"Emma, what happened?"

I held one hand to my mouth, a folded piece of paper in the other.

"Ben's been critically injured," I whispered. "And the hospital can't evacuate. They don't think he'll survive." I've never wanted to cry so badly in my life.

Thomas pulled me up and held me tightly. "I don't know your brother. But if he's anything like you, he'll make sure he survives."


	4. Chapter 4

I don't know how long we stood there

I don't know how long we stood there. Nothing else seemed to exist until a crash on the porch brought both of us back to reality.

Dad had dropped the bag of groceries he'd been carrying. Upon drawing closer to the house, there had been no mistake that Thomas' uniform was _not_ British.

"He—you—" Dad couldn't seem to decide whether to be angry or afraid.

"You have to let me explain, Dad," I said shakily. Already I was backing into the house, keeping myself between my father and Thomas.

"Explain?!" spluttered Dad. He shut the front door behind him. "_He's a Nazi!_"

"No he's not!" I pleaded. "He doesn't want anything to do with them! Thomas and Peter were forced to fly in the air raids, and survived a crash-landing two months ago. I've been helping them ever since."

"_Helping_ them?!" The incredulous look on Dad's face was terrifying.

"Yes! 'If you've helped the least of these, you've helped me,' remember? I found them injured and without supplies in a bombed-out house. If I hadn't helped them, I couldn't live with myself. At least I learned _something_ from you!"

Dad looked too stunned to retort. I heard footsteps, and turned to see Peter emerging warily from the basement.

"Look at him, Dad," I said more quietly. "If his hair were a little longer, he could be Ben's double. They're his age or younger…" I choked as the words of Ben's letter surfaced in my mind. Finally, the burning tears came. "Now we might never see Ben again!"

"I don't understand."

I handed Dad the piece of paper. Thomas and Peter were watching with apprehension.

When Dad looked up, he too was crying. Without a word he walked up and hugged me like hadn't done in years.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry for everything."

"It's okay, Dad." Suddenly I didn't need to hear the emphatic speech I'd longed for him to say. This moment needed only kindness. One act of kindness.

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. After a lot of careful explaining and days of interrogation, the boys were allowed to stay at our house without 24-hour supervision. A couple newspaper reporters showed up, but Dad turned them away. He said the boys had been through enough.

When Catharine heard about it, she bombarded me with questions. Soon Peter was getting more letters than I did—in German, of course.

The air raids stopped shortly before Christmas; refugees started returning not long after that. Families wanted to be reunited for the holiday, despite most of the city being in ruins.

Catharine showed up at our door on Christmas Eve.

"You're _here_!" I screamed, throwing my arms around her neck.

"Of course I'm here," she said through her laughter. "Now, where are these amazing gentlemen I've heard so much about?"

I turned around to see Dad standing there with a sly expression on his face.

"They'll be along in a minute," he said. "In the meantime, you should get ready yourselves."

"Dad, what's—"

"Everything's been laid out in your room, Emma. For both of you."

Utterly confused, I led the way upstairs to my room. Two dresses had been laid out on the bed, one of them my favorite light-green dancing dress. Set right above it was Mum's necklace. _What on earth…_

We dressed as quickly as possible, and hurried downstairs. There stood the boys, both dressed for dancing and each holding a rose.

"What's going on?" I asked. Dad smiled again.

"You'll see, but I guarantee you'll love it."

Catharine and Peter chatted in German the whole way. Thomas and I were a little quieter. I studied my rose affectionately.

"This is very sweet of you, but could you _please_ tell me what's going on?"

Thomas only grinned cockily as we turned a corner. Many of the buildings were dark and damaged, except for one. The dance hall was brightly lit and emitting faint music. "I convinced your father to let you have one night."

We ran for the entrance.

Time didn't exist on the dance floor. I felt light as a feather as Thomas swung me around. Sometimes he'd softly sing the slow songs into my ear. I knew all about the swing kids by now. Here, he was totally free.

But it wasn't until we got home that the biggest surprise of all revealed itself.

"What is a white van doing at your house?" Thomas asked. I'd been walking with my eyes closed, resting my head against his shoulder.

"Hmm? Oh…I'm not sure." It drove away as we came up the front walk.

Slowly, I opened the front door. Everything felt like a dream. The lights were soft, and there, leaning on a cane, stood Ben.

All power of speech left my body. I was running, and then I felt Ben's arms wrap around me. We were laughing and crying at the same time, hugging each other like we'd never let go again.

"It's—it's really you!" I finally managed to say. "The way they told us, it sounded like you were already dead."

"I'd say they're wrong, then," chuckled Ben. He held me out at arm's length. "Look at you…you look so much like Mum now. It's a shame this ruined knee won't be able to dance like it used to." He glanced behind me. "But I see you've made up for that. Who's this?"

Thomas stepped forward to shake Ben's hand. "Thomas Berger. I've heard nothing but praise about you from your sister."

Ben looked confused. "A German? What have you been up to, Emma?"

I giggled, sliding a hand into each of theirs. "Just helping the cause with one act of kindness."

A little cheesy at the end, yes. Call me a hopeless romantic if it makes you feel better, not that I care.


End file.
